


So why did you chose to lean on the man you knew was falling?

by BetsyByron



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Letters, M/M, New Year's Eve, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Relationship, Social Justice, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 00:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13201674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetsyByron/pseuds/BetsyByron
Summary: In which Erik is a dick, and Logan gets the guy.





	So why did you chose to lean on the man you knew was falling?

**Author's Note:**

> ***Warning*** Suicidal thoughts, not quite a suicide attempt but close enough if this is a trigger. Serious (past) injury, mentions of hospitalisation, hurt/comfort with maybe not that much comfort.
> 
> Inspired by the song « La Lettre » by Renan Luce.
> 
> I don't usually write Charles/Logan, but this ship fitted a lot better with the premise, and kind of works as an accelerated canon storyline (from the beach divorce to Logan (Movie)).

The first letter Logan dismissed, flinging it onto the pile of post addressed to the previous tenant. He'd just moved in, that was bound to happen.

With the second, he briefly wondered if he should forward his mail to this Erik Lehnsherr. The neat cursive on the envelope intrigued him – it clearly wasn't anything commercial or utility-related. Not many people went through the trouble of writing actual letters anymore. Logan found it commendable, and even maybe a little endearing.

The third one was a postcard, and his eye caught the word _kill_ before he could drop it to be forgotten with the rest of the pile.

 

_Erik_

_“I can't do it on my own” is not a figure of speech. If you won't even summon enough decency to acknowledge me, then I might as well kill myself._

_I'm not going through another year of this - I'll be on the edge at midnight on New Year's Eve. If you ever loved me, meet me, we can at least talk this over. And if you never did, you bloody well deserve to have my death on your conscience._

_Charles_

 

“Well, shit.” Logan muttered. He flipped the postcard - it was a view of the Seven Sisters cliffs in Sussex. Lovely place, actually. Usually favoured by tourists and hikers more than by suicidal shunned lovers.

“Don't do it.” He groaned at the postcard, brushing his thumb over the well-formed letters of the name, _Charles_.

Bloody Erik Lehnsherr. Logan didn't have a contact number for him. The estate agent would be on their Christmas holiday. Today was 30th, there was no way the card would reach Erik – and Erik Charles – on time.

“Shit.” He repeated to himself. He grabbed his jacket and swept his car keys off the table.

 

*

 

Edinburgh to Seaford/Eastbourne was an eight hours drive if he was lucky – Logan had gone as far as York or thereabouts before he thought it was wise to stop and get some food and rest. Although he technically had until midnight the next day to find Charles before he jumped off to his death – and seriously, did he have to go all the way south for that, if the ex he so desperately wanted back, as it seemed likely Erik was, was in Scotland? – Logan intended to get there early enough to find him before he had to wrestle him off the edge of a cliff, and preferably before it was dark. Which only really gave him until 3pm.

“Partying in London for the New Year?” The lady at his B&B asked cheerfully.

“Not exactly.” Logan muttered. When she looked puzzled, he forced himself to smile. “Yes.” He lied. “Meeting some friends.”

For want of being a friend, he bloody well hoped this Charles person would at least be grateful. He suddenly wondered what had come over him. He could have just called the police, asked them to watch out for stray hikers on the Seven Sisters that night.

 _You have serious trust issues._ Marie’s voice rang in his head from the last time he'd seen her, when she'd slammed the door on the relationship they hadn't even started.

Maybe that was it. Logan patted his breast pocket absentmindedly, where Charles’s card was. He wasn't sure what it was about it. The sharpness of the pen and wit even for someone who was on the verge of suicide. The need to protect, and yes, the fact he didn't trust anyone to do it for him. Even accidentally, Charles had come to him. He had a responsibility now – and he certainly didn't want his conscience to take the hit meant for Erik.

 _You think of yourself as a lone wolf, but what you are is selfish. You are incapable of taking care of someone else's needs._ Oh shut up, Marie-memory. He had nothing to prove. He simply didn't want a man to die because of something as stupid as not having the right address.

And there were the letters themselves. Logan had taken the previous two with him and read them at a service station on the motorway, hoping for some clues that would help him find Charles before it was too late.

 

_Erik_

_These past few months have not been easy for me, but you wouldn't know, since you left me. And as you had the good taste to take my sister away with you, I have no one left in the world, and I don't think I can make it on my own._

_I am leaving the hospital next week, I can't tell if it's good news. I don't know where to go. I bought a new phone, please call me, the number is at the back – I don't have yours. I wish I'd stored it in my brain instead, at least I've not lost that yet. Please call me. You or Raven, if she's still with you. Please._

_Charles_

 

It made Logan grind his teeth to read it. You didn't leave someone you loved, or pretended to love, stuck in hospital. That was just rude. And you didn't run away with their sister! Even if he didn't know the full story, it was clear to him who the villain of the piece was. The second letter made that even clearer.

 

_Erik_

_I am staying with my former lab partner in Oxford, Hank, no sure you'll remember him. I've written down his address, and my number again, in case you couldn't read it properly the first time._

_You told me once that the spirit of your cause was more important than its individual fighters, mind over matter, and all that. I disagreed then, but I think you may be right. I am in a great deal of pain, but I could live with that if I had you. If you stay gone, and I can't heal my heart, I'm not sure I can heal my body. Please, Erik. What have I done that prevents you to even come visit me? I'm very sorry **my** injury has been such a great inconvenience to **you** , but I don't think that justified leaving the way you did. You also told me once that you loved me. When did that change? Or was that ever true?_

_Come back – I can't do this alone, but you can help me. I don't have enough pride left not to cry for help, Erik: help._

_Charles_

 

And Logan wasn't sure what was wrong with him, if he was getting sentimental as he grew older or if he had been alone for too long, but he had fallen half in love with Charles somewhere along those three letters. He didn't know anything about him, but the distress he expressed had somehow awoken a fierce protective instinct in Logan. _I'm coming, Charles._

 

*

 

Taking into account the statistical probability that Charles was still living in Oxford since his last letter – dated two months prior –, Logan decided to start his search in Seaford, finding it unlikely the man would travel further than he had to in this context. He felt a bit stupid as he entered the first inn. What on earth was he going to ask for? _Hi, do you have a guest named Charles who looks like he might want to kill himself?_ But the cliff line was 10 miles long, and he had another 11 hours before midnight, so he had to start somewhere.

He went around Seaford for two hours, asking for a man named Charles, who'd be travelling alone, coming from Oxford, not looking festive. Everyone he talked too was rather preoccupied by the preparations of their own New Year's Eve feast, and didn't really give him the time of day. His luck turned when a homeless man sat in front of a bank beckoned him.

“I saw Charles.” He called when Logan ignored him the first time. “Nice Charles. We spoke. He gave me all this.” He showed him a handful of £20 notes, covertly, as if Logan might try to grab them. “Nice Charles.” He repeated. “Said he was going to see the sunset up here.” He tilted his head towards the road going up to the Seven Sisters.

“Thank you.” Logan told the man, as he started running in the same direction. The sun was already setting. It was getting dark quickly. _Damn you Charles. You said midnight. Don't let go any earlier. Give me time to find you._

He crossed the path of a few people, mostly couples or families, two or three lone men who didn't respond to the name _Charles_ when he called it. For the first time, Logan wondered how old Charles would be. He imagined an older man, the only other Charles he knew who was about his age going by Charlie. Unable to be openly gay because of the mind frame of his generation, rejected by the man he thought loved him when it had been time to show it publicly. A man tired of life, of years of hiding and years of pain.

Charles must have had quite the head start on him, because he walked for an hour before he spotted the silhouette of a man sitting near the edge, dark against deepening dark. He saw the square of light of a phone going up, the head sagging in disappointment, the light disappearing again into his lap.

“Charles?” He called.

The head turned. _Oh thank God._ Logan thought. Found you.

“Are you Charles?” He repeated, just to be sure, as he came closer.

“I… yes?” The man answered. It was too dark to see his face, but he didn't sound like an old man.

As Logan came closer, he noticed Charles was not sitting on a bench, but it his own wheelchair. Even in the darkness, he could see that his left leg stopped at the knee.

“Don't do it.” He said, for want of a better thing to say. “Come with me.”

“I'm sorry, do I know you?” Charles asked, a true worry in his voice.

“No you don't. But I got your letter.”

“I'm confused.” Charles scoffed.

“Just come off the edge. Please?”

“I'm waiting for someone.”

“I'll wait with you until midnight if you want.” Logan offered. “But Erik’s not coming, Charles.”

“Who are you?” The voice was broken, lost and small.

“I'm a friend.” Logan said, hoping it could be true. Hoping he could help him. “My name is Logan. I just want to help.”

There was a long moment of silence. Logan waited, knowing he would quite easily be able to roll Charles away if he had to, but he didn’t want it to come to this. It would take away his will, his dignity, and whatever was left of his spirit.

“Fine.” Charles finally spoke. “Let’s hear your story somewhere warm.”

 

*

 

When they finally reached a place where they could manoeuvre the wheelchair inside and to a table without causing too much of a fuss (a real dump of a local pub, where nobody but a few lonely and/or already drunk locals would dream of spending their New Year’s Eve) and Logan sat across from Charles, he was immediately struck by the blue of his eyes. He had shadows underneath them, a scruffy stubble and probably hadn’t washed his hair in a bit too long, but Logan could tell he was a handsome man, and a lot younger than he had anticipated – early thirties maybe. Too young to give up.

“What are you drinking?” He asked.

Charles shrugged. Logan went up to the bar and got them two random pints probably neither of them would enjoy. But at least they had a reason to stay for a while.

After placing the drink in front of Charles, he took out the letters from his jacket and put them down on the table.

“Erik moved.” He stated.

Charles’ eyes widened as he recognised them. His hand hovered over them, not quite touching the paper.

“He never got them.” He murmured.

“Makes the ultimatum a bit moot.” Logan pointed out, not willing to coddle him. “Good thing you wrote a postcard last, though. Wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t.”

“And you just… came?” Charles asked, looking straight at him in both confusion and defiance.

“Didn’t deserve your death on my conscience.” Logan retorted.

As he had done on the cliff, Charles remained silent for a while. He stared at the letters, his hand resting on the table just next to them. Logan allowed him his time, sipping his beer, and saying nothing either.

“Thanks.” Charles said eventually, quietly. “It’s a long way to come for a stranger.”

“Didn’t have plans for New Year’s Eve.” Logan joked. “What’s the story?” He asked after a beat.

Charles sighed. “Did you hear of the Mutant protests?”

“Hard to miss.” Logan said, clenching his fist subconsciously.

Mutants had started emerging in the public eye a couple of decades ago, thought they had been around for much longer – Logan was well placed to know. Faced with those new encounters, and potentially with a new more evolved species, governments around the world had not always had the best reactions, and mutants had been rounded up, persecuted and studied for several years before someone had thought to point out that they were still human beings. The debate was still raging regarding that definition, and mutants were actively fighting for their rights and against worldwide identification and inhibition.

“Erik and I met at one of those when I was seventeen.” Charles said. “That was back when they were non-violent. We never had quite the same views on the matter.”

“You’re a mutant?” Logan asked, hopeful. It was hard to find someone who understood. Even amongst his kind, there was usually a little awkwardness when he started regenerating in front of them, or mentioned how he remembered serving in both World Wars.

“Was.” Charles winced. “The painkillers.” He explained when Logan frowned. “I’m still on them, and they make everything… foggy. I’m a telepath.” He added. He frowned in turn. “You okay with that?”

“I’m over 130 years old.” Logan stated as an answer. “Healing factor.” He grinned. “I’m okay with that.”

“That is amazing.” Charles breathed. “My sister’s metabolism is much slower than a baseline human, but I don’t think even she would age that extensively.”

“The sister your Erik left with?” Logan poked, to get Charles back on track. He believed in rupturing the abscess.

“Yeah, well, they were always of like minds. Erik and I disagree on pretty much everything, but we were lovers. I thought it would count for something. It did for me, as I’m sure you’ve read, I still love him, at least in some shape or form. I thought he loved me. In the end he chose the cause.”

“What about the leg?” Logan pushed.

“Lost it in a car crash.” It seemed to get easier for Charles to talk. “The bone broke in so many fragments, they couldn’t do anything to put it back together. Got a few other scars to show for it, I was in the hospital for months.”

“And Erik left.” Logan concluded. “With your sister.”

“They are fighting the good fight.” Charles said bitterly. “Being stuck at my bedside didn’t fit anywhere in their agenda. Erik is angry at the entire world. Raven just wants to be able to walk down the street without hiding.”

Logan raised an eyebrow again, which Charles spotted. “She’s blue.” He specified. “In her natural form. She’s a shapeshifter, so she doesn’t usually show it. It’s not that I don’t understand what they want to achieve.” He sighed. “It’s just… Where does that leave me? Am I selfish to think they should have stayed for me?”

“I don’t think you are.” Logan said more gently.

“Maybe they didn’t realise how bad it was.” Charles continued, a little frantically. “Maybe Erik would have come, if he had received the letter, if he had known, maybe he-”

“Hey, no.” Logan arbitrated, grabbing Charles hand across the table to bring him back into focus. “Erik is an asshole who abandoned you straight the fuck after you got _amputated_.”

Charles tensed for a few seconds, and broke down into a sob, his hand clenching underneath Logan’s.

“I don’t have the energy to be angry anymore.” He choked. “I’m all alone, I can’t- I can’t do this.”

“I’ll help you.” Logan said. With all his heart, he wanted to help him – he had never been so sure of anything.

“I don’t know you.” Charles cried.

Logan cupped Charles’ hand with both of his, and when Charles looked up, he didn’t smile, serious as hell.

“Then let’s get started.”

 


End file.
